The View from Prince Street by Mary Ellen Taylor Page B

a daughter, Diane, who oddly also married into the McDonald family.”
    â€œDiane McDonald. She was Jennifer and Rae’s mother.”
    â€œYes.”
    The faded page creaked as I turned it. The families were intertwined like the thick honeysuckle vines growing on the back fence of the Prince Street house. “And you asked your mother about all this?”
    She studied the page so closely, recalling distant memories fading fast. I wondered if she remembered it. “She never admitted to any of it.”
    â€œYou must have talked to someone. Who told you about the adoption? How did you end up with this book?”
    A frown furrowed her brow. “I don’t remember. I’ve been trying all morning to remember the details of how the book came to me all those years ago but I can’t dig up one memory. This damn disease is stealing my life.” Tears moistened her eyes. “I need to remember. I need to find out what happened to Jeffrey and why Fiona gave me away. And why didn’t she ever want me back after she was married again?”
    A lot of time had passed, but the pain on Amelia’s face was raw. Her wound had never healed.
    â€œHow did you get this book here, Amelia? I didn’t bring it from the house.”
    Her eyebrows rose. “I called my attorney. I asked him to bring it to me. It’s been with my papers for years.”
    â€œColin West?”
    â€œYes. I think it was Colin.”
    I’d met Colin to get Charlie and discuss Amelia’s finances. In his late thirties, he was polite, nice, and reserved. Not classically handsome, but very intense. He always wore a suit, and once I jokinglyasked if he’d come into this world fully attired. He wasn’t amused. Jokes and Mr. West were strangers. I’d have written him off if Charlie hadn’t liked him.
    Amelia laid her small hand on mine, her grip tight. “Maybe you can talk to your friend Jennifer McDonald. I bet she would be able to find out more.”
    I drew back. Her addled mind was missing critical bits of information and she didn’t realize it. Still, the words sliced. “Jennifer is dead, remember, Amelia? She died in a car accident when we were in high school.”
    She clutched her white blanket as though holding on to memories. “Jennifer is gone?”
    â€œYou remember the car accident, don’t you?” There were so many times that I wished I could forget it. But not a day passed when I didn’t hear the screech of locked wheels or my screams blending with Jennifer’s as the car struck an old tree by the river.
    â€œThe accident.” Amelia’s lost eyes stared back at me. “Jennifer was killed?”
    Carefully, I closed the book, sensing the frail woman who had greeted me when I’d entered the room minutes ago had been overtaken again by the shadows. Her memory flicked off like a light. “It was a long, long time ago, Amelia. Don’t worry about it.”
    Still holding my hand she offered to console me. “But it was an accident.”
    â€œYes. A very bad accident.”
    â€œMaybe you could ask Jennifer’s sister, Rae, about Fiona. Rae was always such a smart girl. Always had the answers.”
    â€œI haven’t seen Rae in sixteen years, Amelia. She and I aren’t friends like we used to be.”
    When Jennifer died, Rae’s world of order was turned upside down with grief. She acted out, rebelled against her own mother’s stoic acceptance of Jennifer’s death. She went looking for love and comfort anywhere she could find it. Rae soon found herself pregnant at sixteen.
    I moistened my lips, the constant craving for alcohol elbowing to the front of my mind. I’d thought about drinking every day since the accident and most days could list all the reasons why I was grateful I no longer drank. But today, the gratitude list was woefully short. All the true and sure reasons for sobriety that usually